


gonna wanna make it move

by decinq



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-21
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 15:37:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5253725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decinq/pseuds/decinq
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He spends so much time thinking ahead--being careful, holding onto everything so tightly with his shaking hands--that it’s easy to forget that he’s an honest to god dipshit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	gonna wanna make it move

**Author's Note:**

> i found this in my gdocs, and i thought i would set it free seeing as i don't think it's going to get any bit better or any bit more believable. whateva whateva. the title is from miley cyrus' 'the climb' because i am a ridiculous person. (please suspend your expectations of reality and pretend that jack could slip away from his hockey team for three days at the beginning of october!! please)
> 
> this takes place in october of 2k15.

Jack knows it’s a bad idea from the very start.

 

All lies, generally, tend to be bad ideas. Jack knows this--he grew up with his mother, who has a _constitution_ about sharing and the Truth. Jack has never been much of a liar, he’d told his mom he was gay the second he felt brave enough to tell it to himself.

 

When he had started overmedicating, he hadn’t realized he was lying simply by not telling the truth. He hadn’t known he was keeping a secret until it had been spilt.

 

Jack doesn’t think that having a private life--a life that is hidden away from the media and the public--is the same as living a lie. Jack knows that his parents make the list of people who absolutely understand the concept. Still, he’s not sure why he does it. He can’t say why or how the words leave his mouth, just that they do. Usually he’s so careful with his words; usually he plays his cards so close to his chest; usually he is meticulous and slow and gentle with himself in a way that only hardship has taught him.

 

But still, he says it, does it, lies and doesn’t even think about the consequences until he’s hit the button to end the call with his mom, and by then it’s too late.

♡♡

The thing is, Jack is a fucking idiot.

 

It’s not news, per se. Just--sometimes he forgets that he’s the biggest fucking moron to ever walk the planet. He spends so much time thinking ahead--being careful, holding onto everything so tightly with his shaking hands--that it’s easy to forget that he’s an honest to god dipshit.

 

He’s destroyed his own life before.

 

Jack is at least smart enough to know that this isn’t remotely the same, that it could be passed off as a white lie, like an exaggeration, as _something,_ if needs must. But it tugs at Jack while he drives to the gym. It tugs at Jack while he lifts weights, and it tugs at Jack while he makes his way through 10k on the rowing machine. There’s an uncomfortable knot in the bottom of his stomach by the time he’s peeling off his clothes to shower, and then it’s been hours, nearly a whole day. By now he knows his mother is busy making plans, even if she won’t put pressure on Jack by voicing her imaginings aloud.

 

But because Jack apparently has no self-preservation when it comes to his romantic feelings, he texts Bittle a quick, _can i run something by u? call me when u can_.

 

As soon as it’s sent, he feels worse. He has no idea what he’s planning on saying that doesn’t make the whole situation disgusting, or embarrassing. Either way, it definitely makes him a bad friend. At best, Bittle will laugh, will tell him that he’s ridiculous. At worst, Jack’s mom has already emailed Bittle’s mom, and then Jack would be responsible for outing Bittle, and then Bittle would never talk to Jack again. Which. Shit. He’s stupid, sure, but he should have considered that.

 

_mama please don’t say anything to bittle’s family. they don’t know. it’s important._

 

She answers quickly, and Jack’s is deliriously happy when he reads her response of, _I would never. It’s none of my business anyway._

 

He texts back a heart emoji, feels okay for two whole seconds before he feels terrible about it again. When he gets to his car, he sits in the driver’s seat and taps his fingers on the steering wheel, but doesn’t turn on the engine. He lets his head fall back against the seat, and sighs. Christ. He’s stupid.

 

♡♡

 

“Bittle,” Jack says when he answers his phone. “Hey.”

 

“Hey,” Bittle says. “What’s up?”

 

“How’re you?” Jack asks. He knows it’s a deflection, doesn’t mean to do it, but he’s also a coward, on top of the stupidity. Maybe they mean the same thing, he thinks, but abandons the thought to listen to Bittle’s lilt through the phone.

 

Bittle tells Jack about helping the new frogs get settled, how his week has been spent warning too many people about the eggs in the dining hall. “It’s stressful,” Bittle says. “I’ve stress baked, like, twenty pies.”

 

And maybe it’s telling, more telling than Jack wants to admit, but he laughs at that, and it feels light and easy in a way that things haven’t felt since May turned into June and Jack left Samwell. He’s still chuckling as he says, “Are you trying to tell me that you wouldn’t have made those pies anyway?”

 

“Listen,” Bittle says, laughing softly even as he mock-chastises Jack. “I always forget that these young, growing boys can eat the way they do.”

 

“Guess you wouldn’t know much about that,” Jack says, deadpan. “The growing, I mean.” Even though Jack can’t see him, he can imagine Bittle’s eye roll.

 

“Mister Zimmermann,” Bittle says. “The mouth on you, I swear.”

 

“Otherwise, you’ve been okay?” Jack asks, and he wipes his palm on his sweats, because if he can’t get his shit together to ask Bittle about this now, he’s not sure how he ever will. He fights the urge to start pacing his apartment.

 

“Yeah,” Bittle says with a small sign. “Y’know how it is. First week’s always hectic.”

 

“Yeah,” Jack says. “I know.” He misses Samwell a lot, but he’s happy to be free from the wave of freshmen that swarm the campus every September. Providence is nice in its own way. Jack’s ready for it now, and the coming of autumn in Rhode Island isn’t all that different from Massachusetts. It’s not that long of a drive--he could make the trip to the Haus often enough, if he decided to.

 

There’s a beat of slightly awkward silence, and Jack hates it; it barely last a second before Jack is shaking himself, forcing himself to speak, but it still settles in the back of his mind. He can think about all the things they left unsaid before he left for later analysis. He needs to--

 

“I wanted to ask you a favour,” Jack says. He forces his fingers to relax, and exhales.

 

“Sure thing,” Bittle says. “Anything.”

 

“I wanted to ask what your midterm schedule is like, and see if you’d be free for Canadian Thanksgiving.”

 

“Oh,” Bittle says. “One sec, I have everything programmed into my phone.” Jack can hear him tapping at the screen of his phone, and it just takes a few seconds until Bittle says, “Is it the weekend of the tenth?”

 

“Yeah,” Jack says. “I have three days off from the 8th to 11th before regular season play starts, and, uh--”

 

“I have a paper proposal due on the Thursday, but we don’t have a game. I could probably skip out on practice. What’s up?”

 

“If I paid for it, would you be able to come to Montreal? We could fly out of Logan together.”

 

“I--” Jack can hear the hesitation in Bittle’s voice, and he regrets every single decision he’s ever made insofar as they’ve all led to this ridiculously awkward moment. Jack is about to embarrass himself quite a bit, and he knows it.

 

But he hadn’t imagined the relief in his mother’s voice when he’d said Bittle’s name, when he’d said, “Dad’s met him,” like that counted. And Bittle is his friend, and he trusts him, and--

 

And Jack wishes it wasn’t a lie.

 

He might be stupid, and a coward, but he knows this one truth, at least--that he’s ass over tea kettle for Bittle, and he thought that would go away, and it never did, and the distance between them does nothing but make Jack ache to get closer.

 

“My mom wants you to come to dinner, for the holiday,” Jack says, because it’s as good an intro as any.

 

“Really?” Bittle says, and Jack can hear the smiling in his voice. He sounds less cautious, less awkward, less guarded.

 

“Really, really,” Jack says. He bites his tongue and holds his eyes shut tight when he says, “She thinks we’re dating.”

 

His voice sounds pained, and the words feel like they’re taking teeth with them as they leave his mouth, but that’s it, the words are out there, passing through the line of the phone connection and Jack--

 

Jack is a fucking goner, because Bittle says, “Uh,” and then huffs a laugh and says, “And you were too much of a weirdo to tell her otherwise?”

 

Jack groans, and even though he knows it is entirely his fault that this is even happening, he just says, “She sounded really happy.”

 

Bittle sighs, and Jack knows he’s won when Bittle says, “You’re ridiculous, you know.”

 

Jack smiles, and relaxes. “I know.”

 

“What’ll it entail?” Bittle asks.

 

Jack shrugs through the phone even though Bittle can’t see him.

 

Bittle says, “I’ll hold your hand or whatever at dinner.”

 

“But?” Jack asks.

 

“But I wanna see baby photos,” Bittle says. Jack groans. Bittle says, “I feel so lucky. An NHL player for a boyfriend and your baby photos to boot.”

 

Jack laughs, and says, “Jesus.”

 

“It’s all comin’ up roses, Jack.” Bittle says, laughing.

 

“Stop laughing at your own jokes,” Jack says. But he’s smiling, and he got what he wanted, so he can’t really complain.

 

“You like my jokes,” Bittle says.

 

“Yeah.” Jack says. “I do.”

 

♡♡

 

The Falcs do alright in the preseason; not as well as Jack would like, but not all that bad. They get good press, and so does he. He skates hard, sleeps soundly, eats lots. He gets permission to miss skate on the Sunday, and he feels bad, but Dan is understanding when Jack mentions his family. Jack will take it.

 

He leaves Providence at around nine, and spends most of the drive to Samwell brooding. He knows he’s being ridiculous, but he can’t really help it. He spent a large chunk of his senior year tiptoeing around his feelings for Bittle, and--

 

It’s a lot more complicated than he can really deal with, right now. He wants to be happy, but he wants to establish his spot in the Falcs’ franchise, and he wants to work hard, and he wants to prove the whole world wrong. He wants to make a life, and he’s been able, up until now, to ignore how badly he wants Bittle to fit into that. It’s fanciful, he knows; it’s dumb and irresponsible and, he thinks, honestly kind of cruel. There are too many things that would come with it, even hypothetically. If Bittle did feel the same way, there’s no way Jack could ask him to hide, to go back into the closet that suffocated him for so long.

 

It’s not fair.

 

And it’s not fair for Jack, either--he knows that. But.

 

He’s responsible for his own skin, and he can’t pin any of his own bullshit onto anyone else. That’s the choice he has to make. Just because Bittle is warm and safe doesn’t mean that Jack gets to have that.

 

He knows he’s being dramatic, but he can’t help it, and by the time he’s pulled up in front of the Haus, he’s on edge with it, nervous and scared and feeling sorry for himself.

 

He texts Bittle after he parks along the kerb, because if they spend any time chatting with anyone, they won’t get to the airport on time. _outside_ , he sends.

 

The front door to the Haus opens and Bittle makes his way up to the car quickly. He opens the door to the back seat and tosses his bag in and closes the door, and then slides into the passenger seat. “Hey,” he says, and yawns.

 

“Hi,” Jack says, smiling. He resists the urge to reach out and touch Bittle by tightening his grip on the steering wheel and says, “Seatbelt.”

 

“Yes sir,” Bittle says, and he clicks himself in. Jack takes a second to smile at him, and he notices the bags under his eyes.

 

“Did you sleep at all?” Jack asks.

 

“Nah,” Bittle says, but he waves Jack off. “I had to finish that paper, handed it in, like, an hour ago? It’s all good, I’ll crash when we get on the plane.”

 

“You should take care of yourself,” Jack says, but it doesn’t sound like a chirp, sounds... _something_ \--but Bittle still rolls his eyes, like Jack still fills a role in his life where that’s an appropriate thing to say.

 

“I’m happy to see you, too, Jack,” Bittle says.

 

“You can pick the music,” Jack says, as he shifts the car into drive.

 

“Knew you missed me,” Bittle says, smiling. He plugs his phone into the AUX cord.

 

♡♡

  
“So,” Bittle says as they’re standing in the security line. “Do we, uh, have a story for your parents?”

 

“Oh,” Jack says, surprised. He readjusts the strap of his messenger bag, and considers. That’s actually not a half bad idea, like a game plan. Step by step. Jack can do that. “I mean, they don’t really know anything. My mom just, you know, she assumed, and I...I guess I let her? I figured it was harmless, until she immediately was making plans.”

 

“She wants you to be happy,” Bittle says, fondly.

 

Jack shrugs his shoulders. “I didn’t want to disappoint her any more than I already have.”

 

Bittle scowls, knocks his shoulder into Jack’s arm. “You’re not a disappointment.” He says it like he’s sure, like Jack didn’t carve a giant gaping hole into his family’s life.

 

He wants to repair that hole, and he guesses that that’s what this is all about, really. Wanting to prove that he’s doing better, that he’s got something other than hockey, something more important than hockey.

 

He doesn’t blame his mom for wanting that for him.

 

He wouldn’t be adverse to it. Not really.

 

If only it were easier.

 

♡♡

 

“What if we, like, got together because of all the snow we had. The power went out. That’s a good story. Kinda spooky. Are you scared of the dark? We could say you came into my room because you were afraid of the Haus ghosts--”

 

“There are no Haus ghosts,” Jack says.

 

“Rude,” Bittle says, laughing. “But are you scared of the dark?”

 

“No,” Jack says. He _used_ to be, but Bittle doesn’t need to know that.

 

“Okay,” Bittle says, tapping his knee. “What about, uh. What about after a game? That could work? I was amazing and you couldn’t believe it, and it made you all doe-eyed for me.”

 

Jack snorts, and he says, “Can’t we just say we started hanging out and then we started dating and that was that?”

 

Bittle sighs. “That’s not fun.”

 

Jack rolls his eyes, and Bittle says, “But it is easier. I accept the terms.”

 

Jack says, “Okay, that’s good,” with a laugh in his voice.

 

“I’ve never flown first class before,” Bittle says, his voice softer, closer to a whisper.

 

Jack shrugs in his seat, leans back a bit. “It’s the least I could do.”

 

“Still,” Bittle says. The flight attendant starts speaking over the intercom, and Jack tries to settle. Bittle puts down the armrest between them, and then says, nearly a whisper, “How long have your parents know, that, uh, you--”

 

“A long time,” Jack says back, quiet and too fast. “Years.”

 

Bittle is quiet for a stretch while the flight attendant goes through the security spiel, and Jack lines his arm alongside Bittle’s on the armrest. He focuses on how Bittle leans into the contact slightly, just enough for Jack to notice, and Jack smiles. Bittle yawns, and he says, “That’s good. I’m happy they know.”

 

“Me too,” Jack says, even though he knows they aren’t really talking about Jack’s parents. Bittle loosens the buckle on the seatbelt, and props himself against the window, leaning away from Jack.

 

“Wake me up before we land,” he says.

 

♡♡

 

They spend more than enough time waiting in the customs line; Jack has a Nexus pass and a VIP seal on his passport. Bittle has neither, and so Jack stands with him until they get to the front of the queue. They go up together, hand over their forms and answer questions quickly. The customs agent smiles at Jack but doesn’t say anything else, and they’re let through without a problem.

 

They get to the baggage carousel and stand for a few minutes and watch bags move past them.

 

“My mom wanted to pick us up inside,” Jack says.

 

“Is she here?” Bittle asks, looking around quickly. “I have to say, I’m kinda, um, really very excited to meet her. She’s--I know she’s your mom, but she’s amazing.”

 

“She is amazing,” Jack says, fond. “She agreed to wait for us at home, we’re gonna grab a taxi. There shouldn’t be too much traffic if we can get outta here soon, won’t take long to get home.”

 

Jack leans forward to grab his bag, and Bittle’s isn’t far behind it.

 

♡♡

 

They pull into Jack’s parents’ driveway, and a lot of things happen very quickly.

 

It takes all of three seconds after the taxi stops moving for the front door to swing open, and Jack is immediately embarrassed. Embarrassed beyond belief. He pays the driver and takes a deep breath. Bittle’s hand squeezes his forearm, and he rubs his thumb gently over the inside of Jack’s wrist before he says, “All good?”

 

Jack swallows, and nods. “Yes. I--Thank you, I--”

 

“We’re here,” Bittle says, soft, fast, with a smile. “It’s gonna be fine. Stop thanking me. It’s just your parents.”

 

“I--” Jack stop. “Yeah, okay.”

 

They step out of the cab in sync, and Jack waves to his mom. She waves back from her spot in the doorway. Jack grabs both his and Bittle’s bags, and Bittle awkwardly shuffles before visibly steadying himself and snagging a bag from Jack. Jack hip checks him softly, and Bittle just steps closer to him, tucks himself along Jack’s side.

 

“Into the breach,” Jack says, and Bittle snorts.

 

“Mama,” Jack says. “Hi.”

 

“Hi baby,” she says, stepping down the front steps in just her socks. “And Eric, hi. It’s so nice to meet you.” She says it with a big smile on her face, all teeth, and Bittle smiles back. He extends a hand to her, and she waves him off, and moves to hug him.

 

Bittle huffs a laugh as she squeezes him in a tight hug, and he says, “It’s great to meet you too, Mrs. Zimmermann.”

 

“Please,” she says, releasing him. “Alicia’s fine.”

 

“Okay,” Bittle says. He steps back, and Jack hugs his mom tight, kisses her cheek.

 

“Missed you,” he says into the side of her face.

 

She pats his back. “Missed you too, baby. Come inside, let’s get you boys out of the cold. Dad’s at the Bell Centre for God knows what reason, but he should be back soon.”

 

Jack steps inside and toes off his shoes, and Bittle does the same. “I’ll show you around.”

 

Jack’s mom nods towards the stairs. “Your room is set up for you boys. I’ve got some snacks going, but dinner isn’t until seven or so.”

 

“Thank you so much for having me,” Bittle says as Jack shoves him towards the stairs.

 

“I’m happy you could make it,” she says, and Jack can feel his cheeks heating for no legitimate reason.

 

“I’m going to show Bittle around,” Jack says, shouldering the strap of his bag.

 

Jack catches his mom winking at Bittle out of the corner of his eye, and he almost trips up the stairs. He feels less horrified by it all when he spots the colour high on Bittle’s cheeks, but it’s still pretty much the most mortifying thing that Jack has experienced in a hell of a long time.

 

They get upstairs, and Jack points out the bathroom, the old spare room that got turned into a home-gym the year Jack started at Samwell. “My dad’s office is the next door down, my mom has one downstairs. Their room is the one at the end of the hall, there. We’re in here.” He shoulders the door open to his old bedroom, which has been slightly modified from the state he left it in to be more suitable for additional guests. Jack doesn’t mind, really, because it’s not the same house he grew up in. Most of the memories Jack has of this room remind him less of home and more of hurting.

 

“This is nice,” Bittle says. Jack tosses his bag into the bed, and Bittle continues. “Uh, are we uh. Bunking together.”

 

Jack bites at his lip and says, “There’s a guest suite downstairs but that might be--”

 

“No, no of course, blow our cover for sure.” Bittle sets his bag in the corner.

 

Jack nods, and Bittle smirks. “Speaking of blowing: your mom definitely thinks we’re, y’know, breaking in your room. So to speak.”

 

Jack snorts, and blushes, and he says, “Jesus.”

 

“How am I supposed to look her in the eye when we go back down there? Did you see that look she gave me?”

 

“She’s ruthless,” Jack says, still laughing. “I’m so sorry.”

 

Bittle shrugs. “It’s kinda funny. I know you--I know you like to keep different parts of your life separate, or private. That’s good. But I feel kinda lucky, I guess. To get to see this part of your life. To hang out with your parents.”

 

Jack, honestly, feels a bit giddy at the idea of having Bittle here.

 

Bittle is right; Jack does value his privacy, how could he not, with the life he’s had. But his life isn’t a secret, not from the people he shares it with.

 

And maybe that’s the heart of it: Jack wants to have someone to share it with. And he thinks, just maybe, Bittle would be that person, if things were different.

 

He’s not embarrassed to want to have someone to come home to. To have a life where he lives.

 

And even if it’s a lie, just for a weekend, just to make his mom smile--it’s still a nice lie. It’s a nice fairy tale. It’s make-believe, sure, but it’s still nice. He’s still smiling more than he has since the summer. Since he camped out on Bittle’s floor and they whispered in the dark of Bittle’s parents’ house.

 

Even though it’s not something that’s realistically going to happen for Jack, it’s still a nice idea.

 

♡♡

 

Dinner is a quiet affair. His mom makes stir-fry, and Jack kisses her cheek when she asks him to set the table. It’s his favourite meal, and he’s sure she only made it because she knew it would make him happy. She used to always tell Jack: _it’s the little things._

 

Jack supposes that’s right.

 

Jack’s emotions sit heavily in his chest, but the things that make it lighter--they’re all simple. The way Bittle’s nose crinkles when he laughs, the way he used to slide along the hardwood in the Haus in his socked feet. It’s the way Bounce dryer sheets make everything smell safe. The way even Jack can sometimes catch himself singing in the shower, just because the acoustics are nice. The way the grass in his parents’ backyard feels between his toes in the summer.

 

Jack’s dad comes in the front door not two minutes before they sit down, and he greets Bittle warmly, normally, nicely. He catches Jack’s eye before he kisses at Alicia’s cheek, and he smiles, and Jack smiles back.

 

Bittle settles his hand on Jack’s knee and squeezes, and Jack exhales.

 

♡♡

 

After dinner, there’s wine.

 

Jack’s mom loves wine.

 

This isn’t news to Jack.

 

And yet.

 

Bittle offers them both up for dish duty, which seems cruel to Jack, because he hates dishes, but he’s happy to have the reprieve from his parents’ watchful eyes.

 

Jack dries the pot that Bittle passes him, while Bittle chatters at his side. Jack tunes him out a bit, but Bittle is only talking about some new album that’s coming out soon. Jack figures he doesn’t really need to listen to the details, that it’s safe for him to get lost in his head a bit.

 

Logically, Jack knows that dinner went fine. Bittle talked about school, about the team, Jack’s dad talked about the fundraiser he’s organizing with Subban. Jack put his arm over the back of Bittle’s chair once he finished eating, and Bittle leaned into him. Still, there’s a twist in his stomach. It all felt so easy.

 

Too easy.

 

Bittle bumps their hips together. “Ground patrol to major Jack.”

 

Jack shakes himself, bumps Bittle back gently. Bittle’s voice is soft when he says, “Where’d you go?”

 

“Nowhere,” Jack says.

 

“You were totally zoned,” Bittle chirps. “There were no lights on in Casa Jack.”

 

“Stop razzing me in my own house,” Jack whines.

 

Bittle knocks their shoulders together, but goes back to rinsing plates so they can be loaded into the dishwasher. “Thank you for trusting me,” he says. “For bringing me here.”

 

Jack swallows. “You’re the one doing me the favour.” He shrugs.

 

“Still,” Bittle says. “This is kinda fun.”

 

“Only kinda?”

 

Bittle rolls his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, smiling. He blows soaps suds off his hands and into Jack’s face, and he says, “Kinda,” through a giggle.

 

Jack swats at the bubbles, and shoves at Bittle. They struggle against each other until Jack gets him into a headlock. Bittle is laughing into Jack’s arm, and Jack huffs. “Are you finished?”

 

Bittle is still laughing when he says, “Yeah. Dishes’re all done.”

 

Jack lets him go, and then moves to unplug the sink.

 

Jack’s parents are sitting in the living room, sitting on the couch and both looking at something on the same iPhone. Jack sits on the small loveseat across from them, and Bittle joins him. It’s a bit awkward, Jack thinks, with no one saying anything. Bittle is looking at the bottle of wine on the coffee table and then back at Jack, and Jack is struck by the magnitude of the favour that Bittle is doing him. It’s kind of a big deal, to fly to Montreal and be the pretend boyfriend to Jack Zimmermann. Especially, Jack thinks, with how so many things were left unspoken this summer, how they hadn’t seen each other since July. And now, it’s October, and Bittle is nervously sitting in Jack’s parents’ house like it’s nothing.

 

He hides his discomfort so well.

 

Jack leans forward and pours two glasses of the Malbec for them. He hands one to Bittle, and he smiles. They clink glasses, and Jack takes a sip. It’s good. Better than anything he’d buy for himself, even if he knew how to pick out a good bottle of wine.

 

Bittle settles in beside him, and Jack decides, fuck it, he can be brave. It’s not like it counts. He rests his arm across Bittle’s shoulders.

 

His mom looks up at him, and smiles. She says, “Have either of you read this book? _The Room?_ The film adaptation won some awards at TIFF.”

 

“I read about it, heard it was good,” Bittle says. He leans into Jack slightly, tucks himself in along Jack’s side like it’s normal for them to be pressed together from shoulder to hip to knee. “I like the main actress.”

 

“Who’s in it?” Jack asks.

 

“You know the girl from the first Jump Street?”

 

Jack nods, even though he’s not sure. “I liked the sequel better.”

 

“Everyone liked the sequel better,” Bittle says. “But no,” he says, looking away from Jack. “I haven’t read it. I think I’d be too scared. I tried to read _Gone Girl_ and had to give up. Too stressful.”

 

“Pardon my French,” Jack’s dad says, “But that movie was fucking terrifying.”

 

Bittle coughs, and Jack nods. “Scary as hell,” he says. He curls his fingers around the back of Bittle’s neck and squeezes.

 

By the time the wine is gone, Jack’s eyelids are starting to feel heavy. Jack’s dad is the first to stand, his knees popping as he stands from his spot on the couch. “Don’t stay up too late,” he says.

 

“I think we’ll pack it in soon, eh?” Jack says to Bittle.

 

Bittle yawns and then laughs. “Guess I was a bit sleepier than I thought.”

 

Jack’s mom smiles when her husband offers his hand to her, and he pulls her to standing. “We’re happy you’re here,” she says. She grabs all four empty wine glasses from the table and adds, “The both of you.”

 

♡♡

 

Jack brushes his teeth while Bittle changes into his pyjamas, takes an Advil pre-emptively. They didn’t drink a lot, but wine gets to him worse than anything else, and he wants to be able to work out in the morning without aching the whole way through it.

 

When he slips back into his bedroom, Bittle has his toiletry bag tucked under his arm, and is tapping on his phone.

 

Jack says, “Bathroom’s all yours.”

 

“Thanks,” Bittle says, looking up from his phone.

 

Jack sits cross-legged at the foot of the bed and reads through his texts while he waits for Bittle to come back. Bittle’s nightly routine is complicated, Jack knows. More complicated than his own pee-brush teeth-wash face-try to remember to floss jig, for sure.

He responds to the SMH chat, and replies to Shitty’s text complaining about something Jack doesn’t really understand but assumes is about law.

 

When Bittle does come back into the room, Jack says, “I wasn’t sure if you wanted the right or the left side.”

 

“Oh,” Bittle says. “Uh, doesn’t matter.”

 

Jack doesn’t say that he doesn’t have a preference either, that he hasn’t shared a bed with anyone since he was a teenager—and so he says, “There’s an outlet on the left, if you wanna plug your phone in. If you promise not to shut my alarm off, you can be closer to it.”

 

Bittle groans. “Please don’t make me wake up early. I’m on vacation.”

 

“If you get up and run with me, you’ll feel better than if you don’t.”

 

Bittle climbs under the left side of the comforter, and he says, “That is a blatant lie. I’m sure that if you let me sleep until anytime past eight, I’d feel great then, too.”

 

Jack tosses Bittle his phone and stands to turn out the lights. Bittle plugs Jack’s in to the charger, then stretches to get his own charger in the outlet without falling out of the bed, and then sets both the phone on the beside table.

 

Jack climbs in beside him, and settles onto his back. It’s a queen, so there’s plenty of room, but Jack still feels hyper aware of the empty space of sheets between them.

 

Bittle rolls onto his side, facing Jack, and says, “Night, Jack.”

 

“Night,” Jack says.

 

♡♡

 

Jack’s alarm goes off, and Jack groans at the sound.

 

It chimes for another few seconds, and Bittle says, raspy with sleep, “Turn it off or I’ll kill you.”

 

“Ugh,” Jack says. “Can you swipe it? It’ll stop.”

 

“You made me promise not to touch it,” Bittle says, pushing his face into his pillow. Or, Jack assumes that’s what he does, because his voice is muffled. It’s still dark out, no light filtering in through the curtains yet. Jack reaches over Bittle, crowds him a bit to reach his phone. He quiets it, then collapses back against the pillows.

 

Bittle tugs at the comforter and whines, “You let all the cold air in.”

 

“Did not,” Jack mumbles, already mostly back to sleep.

 

“Did so,” Bittle whispers. “Hate Canada.”

 

Jack would laugh, but his eyelids are still heavy. They can sleep for a few more minutes.

 

♡♡

 

When Jack wakes up properly, his nose is pressed into Bittle’s hair, with Bittle’s back pressed along Jack’s chest, their knees tucked together. Jack’s arm is comfortably settled over Bittle’s side.

 

Jack opens his eyes slowly, and he hates himself a bit, but he hates pulling away more.

 

He slips out of bed. The clock on the bedside table reads 8:45, and it’s early enough that he doesn’t feel like he’s wasted the day, but it’s still later than he’d planned.

 

His dad is seated at the island in the kitchen with his laptop and a cup of coffee, and he says, “Pot’s still hot,” without looking up from whatever he’s doing.

 

Jack pours himself a mug, gets milk out of the fridge and then sits on a stool beside his dad. He sips at his coffee and does his absolute best to not think about waking up beside Bittle, and instead says, “Wanna go for a run?”

 

His dad stops typing, turns to look at Jack before nodding. “Yeah,” he says. “Ten minutes?”

 

“Sure,” Jack says.

 

They make their way through the quiet residential streets in silence. Jack is surprised at his dad’s ability to keep pace with him, actually. With his knee, Jack knows that sometimes running on pavement is less than ideal, and usually the fall is rough on his joints. His dad used to make fun of him, said he sounded like an old man complaining about the weather changing. But it’s not untrue—Jack can feel it in his bones, some days.

 

He knows his dad can too, that he feels frustration at the way his body has, slowly but surely, fallen short of his expectations. That he resents his body for going the way of all flesh. They loop back around, and the trip back is back up a slight incline. Jack can feel the stretch in his calves, and it feels good.

 

They slow down when they’re a few blocks away from the house, and Jack’s dad says, “I’m really happy you were able to come up here. I’m surprised you were able to, with the season just starting.”

“I told Dan it was to come here. He was good about it.”

 

“He’s a good guy.”

 

“Yeah,” Jack says. “They all seem to be, so far.”

 

“I’m happy,” his dad says. “That you’re happy.”

 

Jack stretches his arms above his head, and says, “Yeah,” because he doesn’t know what else to say.

 

“He’s good for you, you know,” his dad says, smiling to Jack. They stop walking when they get to the top of the driveway, which Jack knows to mean that they’re going to talk, that his dad has something to say.

 

“I—“ Jack starts, stops. “I know,” he says, soft.

 

“You don’t have to look so upset about it,” his dad says, laughing. “It’s a good thing.”

 

“I know,” Jack says, fast and awkward. “I just—“

 

“It’s gonna be tough,” his dad says. “But you deserve it, Jack. Don’t ever think for a second that you don’t.”

 

♡♡

 

When they finally head back inside, Jack can hear his mom talking, and he hears Bittle laughing, and it sounds like they’re in the kitchen. Jack follows his dad in that direction, and sure enough, they’re both perched at the island, drinking from mugs.

 

“You’re back,” Bittle says. “I wanted to wait for you to make breakfast.”

 

“You don’t need to do that,” Jack’s dad says.

 

Jack shakes his head, “You should let him. Best meals I’ve ever had, honestly.”

 

“That’s an exaggeration, definitely, but breakfast isn’t too tough.”

 

“That’d be really nice, Eric,” Jack’s mom says. “Thank you, sweetie.”

 

Jack takes Bittle’s coffee from his hand and takes a sip, and Bittle shoves at him. “Get your own,” he says, hopping down from his stool. “And shower. Don’t think I’m gonna let you stink up the place while I’m trying to cook.”

 

Jack’s parents are smirking at each other, and he rolls his eyes, but he does go to shower once he finishes Bittle’s coffee.

 

♡♡

 

The first string of cousins show up around three. After breakfast, Jack’s mom had banished them from the kitchen, had said, “No boys allowed,” and shooed them from the room.

 

Around one, Bittle had snuck back into the kitchen to help for a while, but when the doorbell rang, he slipped back next to Jack’s side.

 

“Everyone’s nice,” Jack whispered to him.

 

“I am suddenly very nervous,” Bittle says. “My hands are sweating.”

 

Jack bites his lips to hide his laugh, but he tucks his arm over Bittle’s shoulder, and grabs for Bittle’s fingers with his free hand. “Seems fine to me,” he says as his dad’s sister and her daughter come into the room.

 

“Jacks, what’s shakin’?”

 

“Tamara,” Jack says, smiling. He waves to her. “This is Eric. Bittle, this is my cousin, Tamara.”

 

“Tammy’s fine,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you,” she says. She tosses herself onto the couch opposite them with the same gusto she seems to do everything. Jack doesn’t know her well, never really had the chance to, but he likes her. She’s in her last year of high school, and doesn’t give a shit about hockey, and Jack couldn’t like her more.

 

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Bittle says. He squeezes at Jack’s hand, and Jack can tell that he’s nervous, but he hides it well enough, still smiles when Jack’s aunt joins them.

 

When Jack presses closer, he pretends to it sell fake relationship they’ve got going. Bittle presses back, and it helps, somehow.

 

♡♡

 

Dinner is loud once everyone is there. Jack and Bittle are squished together on one side of the table, and there are enough voices all talking over each other that Jack can talk softly to Bittle. He explains who everyone is, goes over names and ages and jobs with Bittle quietly. When Tamara asks Bittle about school, he answers, and she laughs at the way he describes the hell that is midterms. She asks about his accent, and he explains that too, and Jack slides his hand to Bittle’s leg and squeezes gently.

 

His dad smiles at him when they make eye contact across the table, and Jack’s cheeks colour. Bittle’s hand covers Jack’s, and no one can see it, not really.

Jack takes a sip of his wine, and talks to his Aunty Patty about the weather in Providence, which helps with his blush, a little.

 

♡♡

 

Jack is a little bit drunk.

 

Bittle is practically in his lap on the couch, and they’ve been holding hands for a while. Jack doesn’t know when it started. Doesn’t really care.

 

By the time everyone leaves, it’s just after one.

 

Bittle tries to help clear empty glasses, but Jack’s mom waves him off. “We’ll get it in the morning, honey. Please don’t worry, you’ve done more than enough.”

 

Jack thinks Bittle’s probably had too much wine to really be any real help anyway.

 

Jack pokes at his side and says, “Bed time,” into the side of Bittle’s cheek. Jack’s not sure why his face is so close. “M’tired,” he whines.

 

“You’re drunk,” Bittle laughs.

 

Jack nods, and smiles. “That too.”

 

It takes a few minutes, but they eventually stumble upstairs. Jack struggles out of his slacks, and gives up part way through to try to pull his sweater over his head. Once he’s free of that, he tosses it across the room towards his bag, then falls to sit on the edge of the bed.

 

Some interval of time later, Bittle taps at Jack’s arm, and Jack opens his eyes.

 

“You should finish changing,” he whispers, and Jack thinks he’s trying to stop himself from laughing.

 

“You’re laughing at me,” Jack pouts.

 

“I am not,” Bittle says, laughing. Like a liar.

 

“Liar,” Jack says.

 

Bittle touches his arm again, and he says, “I don’t think you’re gonna be very comfy sleepin’ like that. C’mon.”

 

Jack groans, but he sits up. He tugs his slacks down, and Bittle laughs again. “You’re kinda funny like this,” Bittle says. “Not—I’m not teasing you. It’s just interesting. Different.”

 

“You’re different around your family, too,” Jack slurs.  He climbs under the covers, and he feels the bed dip when Bittle slides in on the left side. Jack hums in his throat, stretches his arm out to pat heavily at whatever part of Bittle he can reach, and says, “Thank you, Bitty.”

 

“Go to sleep, Jack,” Bittle says.

 

“Okay,” Jack whispers.

 

 

♡♡

 

Jack knew it was a bad idea from the start.

 

The thing is, Jack is a fucking idiot.

 

♡♡

 

Jack has a wine hangover, which is the first thing he becomes aware of when he regains consciousness. He doesn’t want to say he’s awake, because he feels like he could possibly be dead. Which maybe would be better, at this point. He opens his eyes, and the second thing he becomes aware of his how he’s pressed along Bittle, spooning him again.

 

Third thing: there’s a glass of water on the bedside table.

 

Fourth: he might have a boner.

 

He props himself up on his elbow and reaches for the water. When he gets a grip on it, he rolls away from Bittle so as to avoid spilling water all over him, because as much as this is all really inappropriate, Jack doesn’t want to also dump water all over him. Jack, at least, wants to be better than that. He finishes three quarters of the water and then puts the glass back.

 

And he means to settle further away from Bittle, to lay back on his back, or _something._ Anything. Instead, when he deposits the glass and settles back into bed, Bittle turns over, tucks his knee between Jack’s legs and presses his face into Jack’s collarbone.

 

Jack swallows, but he thinks he could fall back to sleep, and he’s cuddled with Shitty before. He could write it off.

 

He’ll have to deal with the fall out of it all, but he doesn’t need to do that now.

 

♡♡

Jack wakes up alone.

 

The clock says that it’s just after nine.

 

He drags himself out of bed and into the shower, and he presses his hands into his eyes until he sees spots.

 

♡♡

 

When he makes it downstairs, the house is quiet. He pads around in his socked feet, and he ends up finding Bittle in the kitchen, which is unsurprising, but still the last place Jack looked.

 

There’s a tray of muffins that look like they’re still cooling on top of the stove, and there’s coffee in the pot on the counter.

 

Jack bypasses both to sit on the stool beside Bittle’s and drop his head onto the island counter.

 

After a few minutes that would probably be awkward if Jack could concentrate on anything other than the pounding in his head, Bittle says, “Hey.”

 

“Hey,” Jack mumbles. He hears Bittle get up, can hear him walking around. The fridge opens, then shuts. A cupboard. Jack doesn’t really know. Doesn’t care.

 

“Here,” Bittle says. Jack lifts his head to a mug being pushed his way.

 

Jack swallows past the lump in his throat. “Thank you,” he says, and it comes out rough, quiet like a whisper.

 

“I—“ He stops. He doesn’t know what he wants to say. But he ought to say something. Anything.

 

“I think I made a mistake,” Bittle says, fast.

 

Jack looks at him, watches him watch his own hands. He doesn’t look at Jack when he continues, “I think I thought it would be fine, that it wouldn’t matter. But—“ He shakes his head, takes a sip of his own coffee. Jack can’t bring himself to drink his own. “I wish it were that easy. I hate that it’s not.”

 

Jack puts his head back down on the counter. He lets himself feel sorry for himself for a few seconds, and then he says, “I wanted it to be easy, too.”

 

It’s quiet for a minute and Bittle says, “It was nice to pretend.”

 

“Yeah,” Jack says into the counter. He lifts his head. “Sorry.”

 

Bittle sighs. “It’s not really your fault.”

 

Jack says, “It kinda really is.”

 

Jack scrubs a hand over his face and says, “I wish it were different.”

 

Bittle leans into Jack, rests his head on his shoulder. “Me too,” he says.

 

♡♡

 

Jack’s parents come home a few hours later, after Jack’s stint in his dad’s home gym. Bittle is camped out upstairs and working on his homework, and Jack is looking up at the ceiling from his spot on the couch in the living room.

 

Jack’s parents are in the middle of some complicated hypothetical discussion and Jack ignores them. He can hear them just fine, but he doesn’t really care. He picks at the skin by his thumbnail. It takes a few minutes, but eventually his dad comes into the room. He lifts Jack’s legs and slides underneath them. Jack lets his legs fall against his dad’s, and he waits. Jack’s dad eventually taps at Jack’s shin with his fingertips and says, “Tell me.”

 

Jack swallows, and contemplates what he wants to say. He asks, “How’d you know?”

 

“How’d I know what?”

 

“With mom.”

 

The silence stretches, but it’s not awkward. It’s kind of nice, actually. Jack can hear his dad considering it, can imagine the wheels turning in his head.

 

He says, “It felt easy.”

 

Jack exhales. Inhales. Says, “I feel like an asshole for thinking I could deserve it. Something that good.”

 

“It’s not selfish to want to be happy, Jack,” his dad says. “Scary, sometimes. But it’s not a bad thing.”

 

Jack presses his hands into his eyes and says, “Probably a good thing, right? To be scared.”

 

“Not always,” his dad says. “I know that’s different for you. It’s not always good. But it’s not always bad, either.”

 

“What do I do?” Jack asks. He’s not his father; he doesn’t want the same career as his dad, doesn’t want to leave the same legacy. But his dad wanted a family—someone to be proud of him. And if Jack can’t ask his dad—

 

“I think you just gotta be honest,” his dad says.

 

Jack groans.

 

His dad laughs. “Yeah,” Jack says. “Yeah, okay, fine.”

 

♡♡

 

He knocks on his own bedroom door, and Bittle looks up at him. “Hi,” Bittle says. He’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, his textbook and laptop out in front of him. He sounds shy to Jack in a way he’s not sure he’s ever heard before.

 

“Hi,” Jack parrots. “How’s the reading going?”

 

Bittle shrugs. “Not so good.”

 

Jack sits on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb any of Bittle’s stuff. “I—“ He starts. Swallows. “I don’t want to pretend to date you,” he says.

 

Bittle doesn’t look at him, but he nods, keeps his gaze in his lap.  “Yeah,” Bittle says. “That’s—“

 

“No, I mean,” Jack says. “I—“

 

He reaches out to touch Bittle, chickens out at the last second. His hand falls to the mattress between them, an awkward halfway point.

 

“It’d be complicated,” Jack says, slow. He breathes carefully. “We’d have to figure a lot of stuff out. But. I don’t want to pretend. It’s too hard.”

 

Bittle blinks at him, and pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. Jack says, “I really missed you,” he says, because it’s true, and Jack’s never really been all that good a liar. Not really.

 

Not when it counted.

 

Bittle smiles. “I missed you too,” he says. His voice sounds tight. “I’ve had a lot of fun this week.”

 

Jack gets it: it feels like they live in a bubble. As if the entire world fits inside Jack’s parents’ house. Like nothing bad could ever touch them.

 

It’s nice to pretend.

 

“What do you think?” Jack asks.

 

“What would it entail?” Bittle asks. Jack thinks he can hear a smile in his voice, though, and Jack can play along to that.

 

“I don’t know,” Jack says. “Might need to hold hands. Can’t say what’ll happen when we’re not in my parents’ house. Might try to kiss you. Might try to buy you dinner.”

 

“Hmm,” Bittle says. “One condition.”

 

“Yeah?” Jack asks, smiling.

 

“Wanna see your baby pictures,” Bittle says.

 

Jack groans, and Bittle laughs, and Jack tackles him to the bed.

 

♡♡

 

The drive back from Logan to Samwell doesn’t last long enough. Jack drives the whole way with his hand on Bittle’s thigh. When they pull up at a red light, Bittle carts his hands through the hair on the back of Jack’s neck, and Jack has to concentrate on keeping his eyes open.

 

When they pull up outside the Haus, Jack says,  “Here we are.”

 

“Home sweet Haus,” Bittle says.

 

Jack says, “Hey, Bittle?”

 

“Mhm?”

 

“I’ll call you when I get home, okay?” Jack smiles, and Bittle smiles back.

 

“Sounds good,” Bittle says. Jack bites back his nerves and leans forward to press their lips together. He smiles against Bittle’s mouth, pulls back before it gets to be too difficult.

 

Jack unclicks his seatbelt, and Bittle does the same. Jack walks around to get Bittle’s bag from the trunk, and they stand awkwardly at the kerb.

 

Jack hesitates, then says, “You think it’ll be okay?”

 

Bittle smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “I think we’ll be okay.”


End file.
